


My Covenant, My Sacrament

by FudgingPastry



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dehumanization, Flashbacks, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Intentional Changing Tense, M/M, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Queerplatonic Relationships, Time Skips, Video Game Mechanics, implied/referenced past rape/non-con, mostly comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:27:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29767920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FudgingPastry/pseuds/FudgingPastry
Summary: The old, heavy doors creaked, then swung open as whoever stood behind shoved with all their strength. The doors revealed a man armed to the teeth, blood dripping down full netherite armor that glimmered and hummed with the enchantments piled onto it. The sword was bloodied and cracked and the man let it drop out of his grip as he stalked forward into the throne room. A crossbow hung at his side, an axe on the other, and a gleaming trident tied to his back. The angel didn’t know who this man was, but he looked like some great knight, some great warrior that struck fear into all those who looked upon him. The boar's skull that adorned his head was also dripping blood. It dripped from the eye socket as if the skull was crying. The red cloak fluttered behind him as he reached behind him and pulled free a pickaxe. He stopped in the middle of the room, leveling the head of the pickaxe at the king. He tossed back his long hair and bared his teeth.“Hello again, Butcher.”
Relationships: Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 147





	My Covenant, My Sacrament

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HaroThar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaroThar/gifts).



> This is a fic that I wrote for my beloved! I also wrote this in 4 days and it uses a style that I'm not super used to using, so apologies if there's some narrative confusion.

The angel groaned as its master forced its head to look up. He had his hand buried in its hair, pulling hard on the strands because he liked to see it in pain. It lifted its gaze to his chin, saw the quirk of his grin. When it swallowed, its Adam’s apple bumped against the leather collar snug around its throat. The king, its master, turned its head to the side and back up. It followed. What else could it do but obey?

“Gods, you’re such a pretty thing,” he laughed. He tugged on its hair hard and it whimpered. “There’s a good pet. Sing for me, you pretty little songbird.” He released its hair as he threw it forward. It fell to ground before him, its feathers ruffled and disorganized. It was taking too long to get up, but it was dizzy. It hadn’t been fed today nor had it had much to drink. It was punishment for something. It couldn’t remember anymore. It couldn’t remember much of anything.

“Come on,” its master hissed, kicking it hard in the stomach. It flinched with the blow, a soft cry slipping out. “Sing!” The angel crawled to its knees, turned towards its master and opened its mouth to start singing.

_BANG!_

The angel flinched and its mouth snapped shut. Its master frowned, eyes narrowing toward the door to the throne room. Another loud noise slammed into the walls outside. The sound of respawn magic taking effect and the scrape of a sword against stone came from beyond. The angel crawled back towards its master, fear widening its eyes. The guards at the king’s side drew their weapons and stepped forward at his command.

The old, heavy doors creaked, then swung open as whoever stood behind shoved with all their strength. The doors revealed a man armed to the teeth, blood dripping down full netherite armor that glimmered and hummed with the enchantments piled onto it. The sword was bloodied and cracked and the man let it drop out of his grip as he stalked forward into the throne room. A crossbow hung at his side, an axe on the other, and a gleaming trident tied to his back. The angel didn’t know who this man was, but he looked like some great knight, some great warrior that struck fear into all those who looked upon him. The boar's skull that adorned his head was also dripping blood. It dripped from the eye socket as if the skull was crying. The red cloak fluttered behind him as he reached behind him and pulled free a pickaxe. He stopped in the middle of the room, leveling the head of the pickaxe at the king. He tossed back his long hair and bared his teeth.

“Hello again, _Butcher_.”

The king straightened, body tight as a bowstring at the sight of the newcomer. His guards stepped forward, blocking his path. The man's gaze drifted over then, only to land in the angel. He stiffened, his full attention on the huddled form before him. Just beneath the skull mask, where his mouth could be seen, he snarled in rage. The angel flinched back from the noise, crawled back to the throne to press up close.

"What the hell are you doing here, Technoblade?" Its master spoke in a hushed tone, his own anger boiling just beneath the surface. The stranger snorted. The king stepped forward again, his hands reaching for his own axe. "How did you even survive? That blast leveled the hillside!"

The man, Technoblade, tilted his head to the side, his intense stare back on the king.

"Do you really think you could kill me that easily, Quackity? Do you really think that was _enough_ to kill me?" He tightened his grip on his weapon and his voice dropped into something sharp, something dangerous. "I'm going to take this pickaxe and I'm going to put it through your _teeth!"_ Technoblade rushed forward, his pickaxe coming down on one of the guards. The angel hid, shaking so hard its teeth were rattling. It hid behind the throne, covering its ears as its master fought the stranger. The fight didn't last long, not against someone so well armed. It heard the respawn magic take effect and the stranger step close to its hiding spot. Here it came: its death. However painful or bloody the man wanted. A sob broke out as it huddled further in on itself. A hand came down on its shoulder and it flinched away, waiting for the death blow to come.

“Phil?

The angel lifted its head towards Technoblade, breath still coming quick in barely restrained panic. The stranger’s hand came up towards its face. It closed its eyes, still waiting to be hit or killed, but his hand simply cupped its cheek. He crooned at it, wiping away a tear with his thumb.

“Phil, I thought…” Suddenly, the man’s arms wrapped around it, squeezing it tightly in a hug. Its fear began to fade the further this continued. It had never seen this man before, yet he treated it like it was familiar…

“Phil, fuck. I thought I lost you forever,” Technoblade whispered as he released him. His eyes looked wet as if he was about to cry. The angel didn’t know how to act, didn’t know what was going on. This man had killed its master, its owner, in cold blood. There was still blood splattered on his armor, yet here he was hugging it. “Come on, Phil. Let’s go before they get back here.” Technoblade started to pull it up, but…

But…

“Who’s Phil?”

The air around them stilled, as if the very universe was holding its breath. Emotions raced across Technoblade’s face, realization and horror slowly dawning on him. It took him a moment to reply. He opened his mouth, closed it, licked his lips, then opened it again. Still the words sounded like he had to force them out, whispered and breathless.

“What did you say?”

“Who’s Phil?” it repeated, uncurling away from the throne.

“You… What did they _do?”_ Suddenly, rage broke across his face and he turned back with a growl. “I’m going to _slaughter_ them. I’m going to…” He stopped, exhaled sharply through his nose. “No. Fuck, no.” He turned back to the angel and pulled it to its feet. “You and I are leaving. Now. Before they come back, we’re leaving.” Technoblade turned on his heel and went to pick up the sword. He shook the blood off and inspected the cracks in the weapon, frowning. When the angel didn’t follow him, he glanced back at it. “Come on.”

“I…” it started, then backed up, shaking its head. “I can’t leave.”

“What do you mean?” He asked, walking back over.

“My master has not given me permission. I can’t leave.” It felt Technoblade’s presence close, but it dared not look up in case it had finally incurred his wrath. Something hooked under its collar, something warm and steady. It inhaled sharply when it realized it was Technoblade’s fingers. It swallowed, feeling the movement brush again the pressure on its throat. He guided its head up so the only place it could look was his face. He had lifted the skull mask. His face was gentle, even though it could see the anger simmering just below the surface. His eyes were captivating: white on black sclera as he looked down upon the angel. It couldn’t look away.

“He is not your master anymore,” he said, giving it no room to doubt or question. “And you are coming with me.”

The angel tried to nod, tried to be obedient. Technoblade smiled and tugged it closer. He pressed their foreheads together and breathed out slow. When they parted, the angel felt strangely weak on its feet. The stranger undid the collar and tossed it away. He took the angel by the hand and led them out the doors. Blood stained the stone beneath its bare feet as they hurried through the halls and the angel was struck by how many people he had killed to get to the king. They would respawn in their beds, in the castle, unless… They passed a door that the angel rarely ever saw into, but it knew… These were the barracks, where the guards slept. Where they should have respawned. But the room was empty. The angel’s eyes widened as it realized: Technoblade broke their beds. They wouldn’t spawn there anymore. No wonder it was taking too long, why Technoblade wasn’t hurrying as fast as he should be. There would be barely any resistance against his leaving. Their leaving. The angel stumbled after him, filled with a mix of fear and want. Fear to leave the castle, to leave its master, to disobey the rules that had been set out for it since the very beginning.

But it wanted to follow the stranger. He had killed so many people, but he treated it gently. And the angel did not know gentleness. It wanted to know gentleness.

Outside the castle was a horse adorned in glittering diamond armor. It nickered gently as Technoblade ran his fingers through its mane. The horse was large and sturdy, a warhorse bred for endurance.

“Can you ride?” Technoblade asked and it shook its head. “Fine. Come on.” He helped it up so that it sat in front of him. Its wings pressed uncomfortably against his chest, but he gave it enough room so they wouldn’t break. His chest was warm and the angel could hear his heart beating strong. He urged the horse into movement and soon they were racing away from the castle.

Technoblade did not slow until the sky was darkening, putting as much distance between them and the castle. Before the night fully enveloped the sky, he led the horse to a small clearing. There were signs of an old campfire here and Technoblade quickly got a fire going. He gestured for the angel to settle down on one side, giving it a tarp to sit on. The angel watched him dig through his bag to pull out some food; bread and some cooked mutton. There was some cheese too and he settled it out in his lap. When he offered the angel some food, it took it with a small thanks. It hesitated before nibbling on the bread. It was rarely given food; just enough that it could live. This was too much, too much kindness. It did not know what to do with itself, how to act around the man who had stolen it. Speaking of which, it… It needed to know. 

“Are you to be my master now?” it asked in a small voice, setting the bread in its lap.

Technoblade clicked his tongue and stoked the fire idly instead of answering. The angel waited still. Its old master had sometimes never responded to questions, even when it was allowed to ask them. All it could do was wait. After a period of silence, broken only by the crackling fire and the night sounds around them, Technoblade heaved a sigh. His gaze flicked up to the angel’s, ever gentle even behind the skull mask.

“If I say no, are you going to freak out?”

The angel’s wings puffed up in response, its face barely reigning in the anxiety that blossomed at the question. Technoblade clicked his tongue again and nodded, as if the reaction was answer enough. He poked the fire again before straightening. His back cracked and here, the angel was reminded how tall he was compared to their weakened form. It watched, waiting for his response. Would he strike it for even wondering that out loud, or would he berate it for being dumb and stupid and worthless and—

“I have no plans on giving you up, Phil,” he said softly. The angel lifted its chin. There he went again, calling it ‘Phil’. It didn’t know him, not past the few hours of riding on the horse away from its old master’s kingdom. The phantom weight of the collar was fading, but it could feel the leather tightening around its neck again. “But I am not your master.”

“Then what are you?” It asked, lifting its gaze to his. It was a challenge, one it rarely deserved and always meant punishment. But… it felt like it was allowed this time. It was allowed this disobedience. Technoblade hummed, tilting his head in question. It leaned forward, face close enough to the fire that it felt like it would blind itself. “What are you, to me?”

“Your friend.”

The angel slumped back, its frown clear on its face. The answer was disappointing and not helpful enough. What use was it for a ‘friend’? It was sure Technoblade wouldn’t want a bedwarmer or a soft thing to hold onto during boring meetings or something to use and take anger out upon. Technoblade didn’t offer more explanation and so the angel started to settle down for the night. Its wings rustled as it tried to settle on its side. The bruises on its stomach were fading now, allowed to heal rather than have more layer upon it. But even as it tried to ignore the light, ignore the other across from it, it could feel Technoblade’s eyes on it. Did… did he want a bedwarmer then? They had no beds here, just the tarps used to keep them dry from the ground, but… Its feathers rustled and it pulled them closer. The night would be cold if he let the fire die. Perhaps, perhaps that’s what he wanted. The angel started to unwrap itself to join its master—no, ‘friend’—by his side, when Technoblade’s voice cut through the night.

“Aren’t you going to preen?”

The angel froze. Its gaze snapped to Technoblade, who tilted his head consideringly. It waited, not sure how to answer that question. Its old master rarely let it take enough time to preen. When he wanted it to look pretty, he had others preen it instead. They never did it right, but it was not its place to correct them. Its feathers were already damaged from… from…

“I see,” Technoblade interrupted its thoughts. It hadn’t answered him, but he had found an answer anyways. He groaned as he pushed himself to his feet, then shuffled around the fire to settle back down next to it. The angel… lowered itself back to the ground, watching him. He stayed out of its blind spots, moved slowly and kept his hands visible. At least, until…

“May I help?” Technobade's hands were held up, open, and he was settled just off to the side. It hadn't had…. anyone offer to help. They usually just went ahead. They didn't need its permission. But here he was, asking it permission! The angel hesitated, then slowly stretched out a wing. Technoblade hummed his appreciation and gently took hold of the wing. The angel bit down a keen, shivering despite the warmth of the fire. His hands were so warm. He didn't pull or twist the wing as he worked either. He was so gentle, stroking its wing as he worked. The angel felt… it felt like worship, the way he handled it. Like something precious, something to be kept undamaged and wanted, even more than just because it looked pretty. Its eyes fluttered shut and it kept listing towards Technoblade, towards warmth and safety.

Technoblade hummed something. It didn’t hear due to the fingers trailing over its feathers. It did feel him reach back, barely holding onto the wing as he rustled through his bag. The angel opened its eyes to see what he was doing. He pulled something out of his bag and, it couldn’t see it through his hand, not totally, but it was sharp--

The angel flinched away, its wings jerking in response to the sudden threat. It expected the hands in its wings to tighten down like a vice, expected to feel its feathers rip away as it tried to escape the knife that he pulled--!

But the angel stumbled away, wings free and flared. It stared, wide eyed, at Technoblade, panting as its anxiety boiled through its blood. He held his hands up, the knife in--

“Whoa, hey, it’s okay. If you don’t want me touching you, then you just gotta tell me.”

“You pulled a knife,” it said, backing away.

“A knife?” Technoblade squinted, then looked at the object in his hands. “Do you mean this?” He held it up. It was pointed like a knife, but… The angel stepped closer to look at it. Technoblade turned it in his hand, then offered the object to it. The angel took the object carefully, turning it over in its hands as Technoblade explained.

“It’s a tool for preening. Like a bird’s beak, you know? Dig out parasites and dirt when hands are too big.” The tool was smoothed down, rounded at the end for a handle, but tapered down. The tip was dulled, rounded so it would do its job without causing harm. As the angel ran its fingers over the tool, it realized it was made from bone. It would stay smooth, not splinter, and not wear down easily. It would not be cold to the touch nor hot enough to burn. Its fingers ran over what appeared to be an engraving. It lifted the tool closer to its face to read it.

 _Covenant_ , it read as Technoblade said, “You gave it to me.”

It did? That was not in its memories, but many of the things he said were not there. But to give him a tool to help preen… That meant things. Even though the angel was not fully sure of what things that meant, it did _mean something._ Trust, for one. Had it engraved it before it gave the tool to him? If so, then. Covenant. The angel gave the tool back and slowly sat down next to him. It raised up its wing again for him to preen, looking away, too many thoughts swirling in its head.

"If you're sure?" he said, again asking for permission to touch it. It didn't trust itself to speak, in case it said something inappropriate or… not something he was looking for. So it nodded instead.

It took nearly an hour for Technoblade to complete one wing. It tried to tell him that he didn't need to take as much time like he was.

"It'll be dirty tomorrow. You don't need to go this far."

"I don't mind it," he said, trailing his fingers down the length of the wing. The angel bit down on a whine when his hand moved away.

"It's late. And you need your sleep," it protested. Technoblade stood up with a groan. It tracked the movement as he settled on his other side without turning around. It continued its protests, trying to make him see sense. "You shouldn't be dirtying your hands with me. It's rotten work." It felt Technoblade still, his hand inches from the wing. Warmth radiated from his hand and the angel suppressed the desire to press in close. He exhaled slowly and settled his hand on its shoulder instead.

"Not to me. Not if it's you."

It felt the breath rush out of its lungs as if he had kicked it in the stomach. But there was no hurting, not from a bruise forming familiar. But there was a yearning, a tight ball of want in its chest. It shifted closer to him, hoping both that he'd notice and that he wouldn't. It had never met someone so kind and gentle as him. It wanted to stay with him forever.

A sad noise from Technoblade pulled it out of its thoughts. His hand was resting on the other wing, stretched out and-- oh. That one. The angel didn't remember how its wing had lost those feathers, why the flesh was burned and scarred. It had always had them surely, and it kept it grounded.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, voice soft and grieving. "This was my fault…"

It blinked and tilted its head. It was?

"How?" It asked before it could stop the word from slipping out. Technoblade tensed, then continued to preen him. He didn't answer the question. The angel waited, but the answer never came. Perhaps that was better, that he didn't answer. But it wanted to know. It wanted to know how it had come to be that its wing was mutilated because of him. But he kept quiet now, focusing on the work. It took less time, due to less feathers. The angel wondered if its question had upset him, but it couldn’t figure out why that would be. He hadn’t shown anger to any of its other questions, but this one. This one was the one he wouldn’t answer.

The angel shivered when his hands moved away. The night was colder now, the moon cresting the highest point in the sky. The angel yawned and stretched its wings. It felt warmer, lighter now. Cleaned and taken care of in a way that it had never felt before. Behind it, Technoblade groaned as he stretched.

“Alright, get some sleep now,” he said with a sigh. “It’s been a long day for both of us, I’m sure.”

The angel nodded and started to curl up on the tarp. It saw Technoblade hesitate at the edge, his jaw working and it waited for him to say something. But nothing came. He patted it on the shoulder and walked over to his own tarp. He pulled out a blanket from his bag and covered himself with it to ward off the cold. It looked warm and it looked big enough to cover two people. The angel hesitated, then asked, as he was tucking in the sides, “Do you want a bedwarmer, sir?”

Technoblade paused, then glanced at the angel. “Uh,” he started. With the dying flame, it could see him swallow. It almost regretted the question, but then he said, “If you want to join, then sure.”

If it wanted to join? It… it found that it did want. It wanted to be useful, at least. The angel crawled over and tucked itself in under the blanket. Technoblade was so warm already that it suddenly feared that it had overstepped its bounds. But he said ‘If you want to’, and it did want to. It folded its wings up close to its back, finding almost every position uncomfortable unless it laid partially on top of him. After spending some time wiggling around, Technoblade guided it on top of him.

“Rest, Phil,” he whispered. “It’s okay.”

The angel settled down, the blanket trapping their body heat together. The angel found it easy to fall asleep like this. It barely even noticed the way Technoblade’s hand started petting its feathers.

* * *

_Phil shakes the blood off his sword, grimacing in distaste. He straightens and glances at Techno. He’s gazing out at the field below them, from their sanctuary in the hillside. Phil sheaths his sword and walks up behind Techno. His wings stretch open as he feels the wind blowing through the cavern._

_“Techno?” he asks._

_“We need to go soon. I don’t know what they’re planning, but they’ve been quiet for a while now.” Technoblade tilts his head towards Phil and even with such a blank expression, it’s the most worried he’s ever been. Phil can read that from his stance alone._

_“There’s a storm coming. There will be lightning, but I can fly us out if we leave just before. They won’t be able to catch us.” Phil squeezes Technoblade’s shoulder. He turns and presses in close to Phil. The winged man presses their foreheads close and croons. “I promise.”_

_Technoblade sighs in his arms and pulls back finally. He’s got that grin under his mask, the one that means he’s got a plan. “We’re going to rain hell upon them, Phil.” Phil grins back, matching the expression. Technoblade moves away and starts for the cave entrance to get a better look at the army waiting for them._

_The hiss is the first thing Phil hears. He recognizes it immediately, recognizes what it means. His voice is lost to the wind, but he grabs Techno’s arm. He drags him back from the entrance, his wing flaring to shield them as the TNT below their feet go off._

* * *

The angel jerked awake, a cry on its lips. It winced in the harsh sunlight pouring through the trees. How long had it been asleep? Its master would be angry, he would surely hurt it, punish it! The angel scrambled to its feet, slipping on grass damp with dew—

“Hey, whoa!”

The angel froze at the voice. That. That was not its— Wait, grass? Why was it outside? What was—The day before caught up with it then as Technoblade’s hand came down on its shoulder, steadying it.

“Hey, Phil. You good?”

The angel straightened and glanced at Technoblade’s chin. It didn’t know how to respond. It was still catching up to the fact it was not in the castle with its master. Technoblade squeezed its shoulder and handed it some food.

“Eat up. We’re leaving soon.”

Soon they were on the road again. Technoblade guided his horse slower now, now that it was clear no one was following them on their heels. The journey was longer than the angel expected, though it didn’t know where they were going. At one point, it asked.

Technoblade gazed as they passed the town. They cut a wide berth around it. It took more time, but Technoblade didn’t seem to want to risk people seeing him. They were still in the Butcher’s territory, and would be for a while yet. He didn’t answer the angel’s question right away, waiting until the town was out of sight, before he spoke.

“We’re going home,” he said, adjusting his grip on the reigns so he could touch the angel’s wings. It was a habit he had, the angel noticed after the first few days. He would touch the feathers with the tip of his fingers, gently petting them. It seemed to be a nervous habit. Something he did to calm down. It helped the angel settle as well. He never pulled or tugged at the feathers, and that was enough of a change that the angel fell in love with it. When he eventually moved his hand away, the angel found it harder and harder to suppress the whine.

“Home?” it asked, flexing its wing under his hand. “Where’s that?”

“In the far north. It’ll be cold getting there, but our home is warm. And it will be warmer with you back.”

“With me?”

Technoblade hummed in agreement. The angel tried to imagine it and found its memory lacking.

“Does it snow?” it asked. Technoblade chuckled and the angel felt the laughter rumble against its back.

“Yes,” he said. His chin dropped on its head and he pressed a kiss to its hair. The touch sent shivers through its body, good shivers. He started talking about the winters of his home, the things he did to keep himself busy. He talked fondly about the polar bears he kept, about the farm he tended. He described it, the way they kept it warm even in the coldest blizzards. It sounded nice to the angel. It liked to be warm and it was warm pressed against Technoblade. It allowed itself to drift, a smile gracing its face. It was smiling much more often nowadays.

The days passed like this. They talked and walked together. Sometimes Technoblade would go into a town, letting the angel sit with Carl a ways away as he gathered supplies. There was one day he returned with a small box and handed it to the angel. ‘For you,’ he had said. Inside the box was a golden ring with emeralds inlaid in the band. The angel nearly dropped the box, then caught itself. It wanted to deny the gift. Surely this ring was worth ten times what it was worth, maybe even a hundred! But when it opened its mouth to protest, it saw the softness in his eyes. A longing, a want. When it had taken the box, he had touched its feathers: a gentle, fond caress.

“Thank you, sir,” it said instead, holding the box to its chest.

“You can call me ‘Techno’, you know?”

The days may have passed in gentleness and bliss, but its nights… The nights were the worst for the longest time. It didn’t understand what was happening, not truly, not until it woke up screaming in the dead of the night weeks after it had been stolen. Techno was at its side immediately, a sword drawn and ready to defend. But the monsters were the ones in its brain, shadows that left it shaking and aching with long forgotten injuries. Tonight was the memory of a forced respawn, over and over again to keep it used to pain, used to injury, used to waking in the dark, and used to being used for purposes too foul to speak again into existence.

It tried to explain when Techno asked. It tucked itself into the safety of his arms, stumbled over words as he held it close and whispered sweet reassurances to it. His fingers caressed its feathers as it trailed off.

“I think,” he started. “You’re gaining your memory back, Phil. You didn’t remember me when I came for you. You still don’t, do you?” The angel looked up and hated the emotion he found on Techno’s face. It was resignation. But it shook its head. It didn’t recognize him, no, not beyond the memories it gained over the last couple of weeks. Techno nodded and pressed a kiss to its head. “I didn’t think so. But that’s alright. It’s _alright_.” The way Techno said that didn’t make it sound alright. It sounded like he was trying to convince himself. But the angel was afraid to protest, afraid to speak against that. If Techno said it was alright, then it was alright.

Techno held it for the rest of the night, petting it and kissing its head. Sleep didn’t come to them, but it guessed that was fine. If it meant that it got to stay with Techno and feel his gentle hands, that was all that mattered.

“Can I ask,” he started hours later. The angel shifted on his chest, a hum drifting from its lips. “How do you call yourself? In your head? Is that something I can ask?” It looked up, its eyes meeting his. He referred to it as ‘Phil’, but that was not who he was. At least, not how he remembered. Techno sounded in pain about the question, but the angel was sure keeping silent would only bring him more pain.

“Angel,” it replied. “It was what my master called me. I do not have a name.” Techno made a soft sigh of noise, the resignation slipping in again. It thought about the dream, the nightmare it had that night. It had been in its body, but fighting. It knew who the king was and he was not his master. He was a _person_ and he suffered because of it. He—it. It shifted on top of Technoblade, its chin on his chest. “I can… I can call myself ‘Phil’, if you want that.”

“What do _you_ want?” Techno asked. “You shouldn’t need to look to other people to make your decisions for you. You are a _person_. You decide what you want.”

It settled on his chest, wings shifting under the blanket. What it wanted? What did it want? It thought of their journey north, it thought of the man who had killed without regret, but was soft with it. It thought about how it experienced happiness with that man. The man beneath his body—beneath its…

Technoblade waited for his response and it—he pressed a kiss to his chest. It would take time, it would take relearning, but if it meant that Technoblade would be happy, it—he.

“I want to be with you. I want to be with the one who’s shown me nothing but kindness and companionship.” He twisted the ring on his fingers and pressed it to his lips. “’Phil’ doesn’t sound right yet, but, I’ll try. For you, I’ll try.”

Technoblade hugged him tightly, underneath the wings so as to not to crush them. The angel—no, Phil? Hrm. He hugged back.

“If, if ‘Phil’ doesn’t work… What about Philza? Philza Minecraft?”

He blinked. The name… the name unseated something inside him. Something… familiar. Like déjà vu.

“Philza… works.”

The next day, Techno had him get off the horse. They were finally out of the Butcher’s territory and Philza could see from how the trees changed that they were getting closer to Techno’s home. Philza barely had any clothes; they hadn’t stopped for that while they were still in the Butcher’s territory.

“Get into the trees. I have to take Carl with me and I don’t want to risk losing you. I’ll be back soon.”

Philza spent its time—his time. His time climbing the tree. He mantled his wings, let the wind gust through the feathers and imagined flying. He wondered if he ever could again. He had been grounded for a long time and. He was remembering more now. He didn’t tell Techno about what he remembered because they were snippets he fully didn’t understand. But he remembered the feeling of fur beneath his hands, of a polished handle, the sound of wind through an icy cavern tall enough that he couldn’t see the bottom. He remembered snow and flying through lightning storms. He remembered Techno’s hands on his feathers, but he couldn’t figure out if that was made recently or an old feeling. He stayed in the treetops for hours, watching the birds fly past. When a voice finally called up to him, he dropped down. His wings slowed his fall and he touched down in front of Technoblade. Technoblade visibly startled, left blinking as Philza righted himself.

“Welcome back,” he said with a smile.

“Bruh, were you at the top of that tree?”

Philza smiled brightly, but didn’t answer. Instead, he glanced behind Techno to see what he bought—

Oh.

There was a second horse. It wasn’t as large as Carl, but it looked strong. It pulled a small covered wagon behind it. When he looked inside the wagon, Philza found supplies upon supplies. Bedrolls, food, blankets, survival gear, and what looked to be a pile of fur lined clothes. He glanced at Techno, not understanding where this had all come from.

“I bought it,” he said simply when Philza asked. “What? Did you think I was broke?”

Philza glanced at the diamond covered horse, at the multitude of weapons adorning Technoblade, at the netherite armor buzzing with enchantments, and realized. He thought of the blanket that they slept under, the one Techno took incredible care when handling it. He thought of the symbol on the blanket. It didn’t mean much to him, not really. But now, with a spotty memory, he.

“This place we’re going to. Is it…?”

“The Antarctic Empire? Of course. We founded it together, after all. Where else would we belong?”

With the wagon now, Philza didn’t have to spend all the time pressed against Technoblade. He missed it, even with the winter clothes Technoblade bought for him. It was colder without the heat he’d grown accustomed to. One day, when the horses’ hooves stopped crunching over dirt and began crunching over snow and ice, Technoblade climbed into the wagon with him. He gave the excuse that Carl was getting tired, but Philza wondered if it was because he saw him shivering. Technoblade wrapped the two of them up in the blanket. The angel remembered what it was like to be warm, deep inside his soul. He fell asleep in Technoblade’s arms.

Days passed and Philza found that he remembered more and more. They were still snippets, but he remembered more. To pass the time, he asked questions about their home and what to expect. He asked one day about what Techno did when he lost him.

“I searched for you, once I was able to. When I woke from the initial wave of TNT, you were gone and I woke to swords at my throat. I killed them off, but you were _gone_ and I didn’t know where you had gone. I didn’t know that they took you, not at first. We only found out when one of my associates was invited to a gala where the Butcher attended. He heard rumors that that miserable piece of flesh had taken one of our own. I knew it was you once they came back. And I hunted down your whereabouts.” Technoblade leaned back with a sigh. “I didn’t eat for days. I was too worried about you. I still… don’t…”

Philza nodded. He knew Technoblade didn’t eat when he was stressed.

“I’ll have to keep an eye on you then, when we get back. My stash of golden carrots are probably long rotten by now…” When Technoblade didn’t continue, Philza glanced at him. He was staring open mouthed at him. “What?”

“Your… Wait, tell me again where you kept your chest?”

“Under the floorboards in the back corner of the house,” he answered immediately. “Why?”

Technoblade smiled and shook his head, a soft laugh of relief slipping out. “I can’t believe it,” he said, still laughing. Philza tilted his head and poked Technoblade in the side. He smacked his hand back, but sat up anyways. The smile he gave Philza was one of the same desperate happiness he showed the first day he found Philza. “I knew I still had you, Phil.”

* * *

_“Are you an angel?”_

_Philza glances down at the teenager standing beneath him. He sits on an archway, high above the potato farm that stretches far and wide, enough potatoes to feed an army. The teenager is grinning up at him, white irises on black sclera focused on him. He looks to be about his own age, the first person he had met that didn’t just ignore some kid with wings. Philza pulls in his wings so he can turn and face him._

_“Nah, mate.”_

_“Then how did you get wings?”_

_“I was born with them.”_

_“That’s so cool! Can you fly?”_

_Philza drops down, his wings catching him before he lands too hard. “That answer your question?”_

_The kid’s grin brightens and he sticks his hand out to Philza._

_“The name’s Technoblade!”_

_Philza looks down at the hand and. He feels something on the wind, much like when a storm would be brewing, promising danger and adventure to those brave enough to dive head first into them. He shakes Technoblade’s hand and returns his name._

_“Philza Minecraft.”_

* * *

“Hey, Phil?”

Philza Minecraft leaned back on the archway overlooking the potato farm that stretched even further than he remembered. It had been months since they returned to the Antarctic Empire. Technoblade kept Philza in his house, _their_ house. The cold winds blew across his wings, though it never reached the farm below, not with the redstone heating the ground enough to keep them growing all year long. Technoblade had installed a ladder up to this spot, knowing that Philza would want to spend his time perched on it. It was his favorite spot, second only to the place in Technoblade’s arms when they fell asleep together under their blanket. He felt the winds pick up, then die down. No storms today and, hopefully, not for a long time.

“Phil?” Technoblade called again from below him. Philza sighed and tucked in his wings to turn to his best friend. The memories in his head were still missing, but since coming home, he felt he remembered more now. Technoblade could fill in the gaps, and any holes they both lost would only be filled later on. He gazed down at Technoblade, tilting his head at the thing he held in his arms. “Can you come down?”

Even with ruined wings, Philza could still glide down from the archway. He landed maybe a little too hard, but that was okay. “What’s up, mate?”

Technoblade shifted the thing in his arms; it was obviously an awkward weight to hold up. Philza offered his own arms to help hold the burden. Technoblade thanked him with a smile full of desperate happiness, then he unwrapped the thing. It took Philza a moment to realize what it was, but when he did…

“I made this for you. I’m hoping it helps you out with… that.” He gestured at the ruined wing. But Philza was having a hard time processing his words, too focused on spreading out the wing cover. He felt over the leather, the joints of the wing cover, feeling how little they weighed. It would take a while to get used to the extra weight, get the motions back after spending so long grounded. But…

Philza set the wing cover on the ground, stepping carefully over it to wrap his best friend in a hug, tightening both his arms and his wings around them.

“Thank you. For everything.”

“Well, Phil,” Technoblade said when they parted just enough to press their foreheads together. “For you, the world.”


End file.
